


Good Luck Pendragon

by HungerDragon



Category: Pendragon - D. J. MacHale
Genre: Death, Patrick's last moments, Third Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 23:49:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungerDragon/pseuds/HungerDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Pendragon series.</p><p>This was a one-shot I put together of when Patrick was completing his final mission on Third Earth. It basically retells what happened in his last moments, what was going through his mind and whatnot. I hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Luck Pendragon

He was only ten yards from the front gate. Ten yards away from speeding through that gate and making his way to the Bronx and the other flume. Once there, he'd deliver his message to Pendragon, the Lead Traveler. He'd know what to do with this latest piece of information. He'd know where to take this ongoing battle.

He didn't take his foot off the gas or his eyes off the front gates. His entire focus was now on ensuring his message didn't go undelivered. It was crucial that this important news reach the Lead Traveler.

He simply couldn't fail in his latest mission.

Failure was no longer an option.

Now more comfortable behind the wheel, his confidence grew. There was no reason now to believe he wouldn't make it to Bobby. Those who'd been shooting at him wouldn't be able to keep up with him on foot.

Ten yards was all that stood between him and that front gate.

 _Almost there_ , thought Patrick. No longer could he hear the startling sound of gunshots behind him. The only sound now filling the air was the sound of the car itself as it sped across the asphalt. _If I can just find that other flume, then I can_ —

But he was immediately pulled out of his thoughts. One second, he was mapping out in his mind how he'd reach that other flume but now, he felt his mind racing yet again. It was as if someone had punched him in the gut.

A large truck had suddenly shot in front of the opening, no longer allowing for an easy escape through the front gates. Patrick's eyes took in the newly unfolding scene and in those few seconds, it was long enough for him to reach the conclusion that he might not make it through those gates after all.

His fears were confirmed when the large truck skidded to an abrupt stop, now completely blocking the way. He knew instantly there'd be no way he'd be able to drive this old car through the gates, not now. His only hope was to slow the car down so he could make a run for it on foot. No doubt he'd be once more forced to have to deal with his enemies on foot, but he had no choice. No matter the dangers and constant obstacles, he had to fulfill his duties as the Traveler from Third Earth.

The _last_ Traveler from Third Earth.

He thought back to what Richard had told him when they'd first met. The old man had told him he was the librarian for the entire city, and possibly the whole state.

With Richard now gone, so was the last librarian who'd been fighting to keep Earth's past and history alive.

No, that wasn't true.

There was still one librarian who was more determined then ever to keep Earth's past alive.

There was still Patrick Mac.

Reacting quickly, he slammed his foot on the brakes, hoping the car would obey. Unfortunately, the car was moving too quickly as it was and judging how close he now was to the truck, no way would he be able to stop this vehicle. Between not being an experienced driver in general and driving too fast, he never would have been able to stop the car. As he lived in the underground village of Chelsea, it wasn't often that he'd need to venture aboveground. Other then coming up on the surface to feel the warmth of the sun, all he needed to live life comfortably was belowground.

The next few seconds happened in a speeding, frightening blur. With how quickly it all happened, Patrick only recalled a series of images that jumbled together. He remembered hitting the side of the truck at full speed, the violent sound of metal on metal filling his mind. He also recalled the force of the impact sending him flying out of the driver's seat and into the windshield. Bits and pieces of glass shattered, appearing to Patrick like a startling shower of glass, all raining down around him. The sights, sounds and feeling of being flung about like a ragdoll in the car felt like a heavy weight on him, as if it wanted nothing less then to suffocate him.

When he bounced back into the front seat, he felt his head swimming more then it had his entire life. His heart was now beating so quickly he feared it might very well leap right out of his chest. The words _what just happened_ flashed repeatedly through his shaken mind. With all that had just happened, he could now only make sense of one thing.

What had just occurred was a violent and vicious car crash. It had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, having crept up on him and taken hold of him.

There was no denying what he now knew.

He was now badly hurt. With the pain that now flooded through his crumpled body, he knew there was no way he'd make it to the flume. It was just about impossible. With the condition he was now in, not only would he never make it even out of the car, he'd never make it to the Bronx alive.

His crumpled body just wouldn't allow it.

But he had to warn the Lead Traveler. He couldn't let this information go undelivered.

He gasped for breath, fighting hard to keep his aching lungs from giving out on him. How much time he had left, Patrick wasn't sure. Did he have a few seconds? A few minutes? There was no telling, but based on how terribly the pain felt, he knew it couldn't be long, so he had to work quickly.

Locating the pad of paper Richard had given him earlier, he used his left arm to reach out and grasp hold of it. With the searing pain that rushed through his right arm like fire, he knew he'd be unable to use it. Somewhere in the violent chaos of the crash that had just occurred, his right arm had been damaged, badly enough that he knew it was now broken.

The pain told him so.

When he felt the surge of pain spread through his injured arm, he cried out in pain. It was hard to describe the pain that now consumed him. One second, it felt like a wild fire was spreading through him, soon to become an inferno. Yet another second it felt more like his whole body was being crushed by a mountain of bricks.

Through all the rising pain though, he had to fight it. Every second was now all but precious. His work here on Third Earth wasn't finished yet.

As he wrote, still he felt the pain wash over him, wave after relentless wave. In spite of that, he forced himself to clear his mind as best he could. He saw the words floating in his mind; now all he had to do was transfer those words onto the page.

It was when he coughed that he noticed a spray of blood splash onto the page. He knew he'd been hurt but it wasn't till then that he was forced to accept how truly badly he was hurt. The taste of blood now filled his mouth and as he continued writing, still the drops of blood dripped onto the page.

The clock was ticking. His time was running out and dangerously soon, he knew the hands would stop ticking completely.

Glancing down, he faintly saw the sight of blood pooling on the floor. It wouldn't be long now. The force of the crash had left his body so crumpled, that he hadn't a hope of walking away from this scene alive. It would have to be a miracle and as he was now hopelessly alone, he knew there would be no miracle to help him today.

He was on his own, and more alone then he'd ever been all his life.

The swirling dizziness was fighting hard to overtake him, but Patrick was fighting even harder to keep focused. It was difficult, as part of him was struggling to fight back the weight of pain while the other was working hard to find the right words to use. With the limited time he now had, he'd have to convey all he knew in a short, straight-to-the-point message. He wouldn't have time to write a longer-then-necessary message.

A few words were all he'd need. But what words would he use?

It finally dawned on him what words he would use. He struggled to write but much to his relief, he managed to write out the words and once finished, the relief that rushed over him was almost overwhelming. He'd succeeded! Through all the terrors and hurdles he'd encountered while on this changed Third Earth, he'd accomplished the one thing Pendragon had asked of him.

He'd learned more of Naymeer's ultimate plan, and now he was going to ensure the Lead Traveler was made aware of this.

He slipped his Traveler ring off his finger, placing it in front of him. He hadn't noticed it till now, but staring down, he saw his hands were shaking as if his entire body were freezing cold.

He knew it was because of the blood. With each passing second, he was losing more and more blood. Soon, he would lose too much and it would be all over.

But not just yet.

"Second Earth," he croaked weakly, barely getting the words out.

The ring came to life and as the usual light display unfolded, Patrick fought to stay alert. While the message had been written, still his mission wasn't finished yet. His work as a Traveler wouldn't be over till Pendragon had received his note and for that, he had to hang on for a short while longer.

Just a few more seconds, he thought tiredly, his eyes wanting so badly to close.

He desperately wished more then anything that the ring would work faster. With the world swirling around him in a sea of blurring shapes and colors, he feared he'd slip away before the portal between territories had swallowed up his note.

When at last the portal had opened, Patrick clutched the bloody paper with a trembling hand…and dropped it inside. It was at that exact moment when he let the note fall into the waiting portal that the pain worsened. Like when that bullet had ripped through his back while sprinting for the flume, now again it was working to drown him in a sea of death.

Seeing the ring return to its normal size, Patrick laid his head against the back of the headrest, closing his eyes. Relief had returned. Amidst all the burning pain that had taken hold of his body, he was able to feel grateful for the amazing fact that he'd succeeded.

He had done his work as the Traveler from Third Earth.

 _I did it_ , he thought, breathing in the sense of relief.

But just as quickly, his thoughts shifted to the sad, but realistic truth that was resting over him. Pendragon would receive his message and determine the next course of action in their efforts to keep Second Earth from crumbling. He and the other Travelers would likely come together and embark on the ultimate journey of stopping Saint Dane from taking total control of Halla.

He remembered what he'd asked of Pendragon before he and Alder had left for Second Earth. He had asked that the Lead Traveler promise him one thing – that he call for him when the end was drawing near. He recalled stating that he no longer wanted to be watching from the sidelines. He wanted to be alongside Bobby and the other Travelers from that point on.

They would all be there with him, ready to take part in the final battle.

Alder, the Knight from Denduron.

Siry Remudi, the Jakill from Ibara.

Loor, the Batu Warrior from Zadaa.

Elli Winter, the Guardian from Quillan.

And of course, Bobby Pendragon would be there as the Lead Traveler.

With Kasha and Aja gone, and Spader and Gunny still trapped on Eelong, they would be short of a few Travelers. But with those who were still alive and strong, they would be there in force with Pendragon, ready to take the final fight to the demon Traveler.

It was a fight that Patrick Mac wouldn't be joining.

As much as he'd wanted to step up and help Bobby in the final hurdle, there was no ignoring what was now happening.

He was dying.

No doubt the hands of the ticking clock were now slowing.

As he sat there with his head against the back of the headrest, he felt his throbbing mind swarming with so many thoughts. Though his eyes were closed, still he could feel the pooling of blood on the floor growing. It wouldn't be long now till the pain of it all was too much for him, and his body surrendered.

Not wanting to witness the continuous loss of his own blood, he focused on reflecting back on his life. He brought himself back to all those times when he'd been happy, and life had been wonderful.

He thought back to his life before he'd found out about his true calling as a Traveler. As a child, he and his parents had shared many great memories while on Third Earth. He recalled all the fun adventures he'd had as a kid – exploring the big, wide world of the library and diving into one book after the next. All the hikes and camping trips he'd taken in the woods, all the books he'd devoured, all the incredible things he'd learned while growing up – it all came flooding back to him.

It was now more then ever that he found himself missing his parents greatly. So much they'd done for him growing up. They were the ones who had taught him and helped him grow into the person he was today. He wondered if maybe now, he would finally see them again. He'd heard Pendragon mention that his uncle had assured him that one day he would see his family again. Replaying those words over in his head, he wondered if maybe it was now time for him to see his mother and father again.

He thought of the teachers and students at Chelsea High. He'd developed friendships with many of the teachers there, and the students he taught were a good group of kids who he'd enjoyed working with. Letting his mind travel back to when he'd first started working as a teacher and librarian, it struck him how much he was going to miss the school and everyone in it.

For those at the school, none of them knew that Chelsea High was about to lose its greatest, most dedicated teacher…and friend.

He thought of his home in the underground village of Chelsea. It was a place that couldn't have been any more peaceful and letting his mind reflect back on it, like his school…he was going to miss it deeply.

Home.

What he wouldn't give to be back home in his underground apartment, sitting comfortably on his outside balcony with his cat Earnest curled up on his lap. So often he'd sat on that balcony reading while letting the sounds of people enjoying their day below relax him.

By now, his heartbeat was slowing. His eyes felt heavier then they had earlier. His body was now so weak, he felt moving was downright impossible. It was like he was glued to the seat, unable to budge.

He felt something strange stirring inside him. Somewhere inside him, in the core of his being, there came a strange, and unexplainable feeling. Like a wave of sadness, it washed over him, leaving him with so many questions that would never be answered. Questions of his life, and what his future would have held clouded all other thoughts.

What _would_ his future have looked like?

Where else would his career have taken him in life?

Would he have found love and gotten married?

And somewhere in his future, would he ever have been able to experience what it was like to be a father?

Those questions and so many others, sadly…would never be answered.

Realizing he would never be able to know what his future would have held, he felt the tears trickling down his face.

As he struggled for air, he closed his eyes again and tried to fill his mind with happy thoughts. Though the end was drawing ever so near for him, still he wanted to hold on to those joyous times. In these last few seconds, it was all he had left of his life.

He thought of the beautiful sunsets he'd had the pleasure of seeing.

He thought of Chelsea High and the New York Public Library, both of which had been like second homes to him.

His family. _Where_ was his family?

The Traveler from Third Earth had been lucky, in that he had dodged death once before. By the healing hands of his fellow Travelers, he had avoided death.

This time would be different.

The luck he'd received once before…would not be there for him again.

He was alone now.

No Travelers were with him.

This was a journey he would be forced to go on… _alone._

With no one to heal him, there was no chance of him overcoming his mortal injuries.

It was time for the clock to stop ticking.

Time had run out for the Traveler.

Struggling for one last gasp of air, he accepted what was coming for him.

"Good luck, Pendragon" were the last words spoken by Patrick Mac, the Traveler from Third Earth.


End file.
